Dearing, The Pink-Horned Hybrid
by Lord Kristine
Summary: Merry Christmas?


Claire Dearing, Park Manager, somewhat retired, was having some trouble with what had transpired,

For after the crisis at her dino park, her mood was quite solemn, her attitude dark,

And during adventures with much flips and flops, she ended up as a Stegoceratops.

This form did not please her, as you might have guessed. She felt being humanoid really was best,

But Owen assured her that it didn't matter. He loved her forever, but this didn't flatter the poor hybrid girl, who one Christmas Eve, sat draped on her mattress, too empty to grieve.

But even a dinosaur, such as she was, couldn't stop herself crying, as everyone does.

Perhaps her humanity was to be found in the teardrops that hit the floor: cold, wet, and round.

Unhappy and sick, the green dinosaur slipped from her bed and crept down to the kitchen, tight-lipped.

She hated herself for indulging in food, but the taste of a salad would help heal her mood.

And anyway, she was already quite fat; she was more or less very certain of that.

Perhaps she was small by a dinosaur standard, but in this green form, her complexion was slandered,

For who in the world could love a dinosaur, when choices, let's say, there were billions more?

So Claire stuck her face in a leafy green platter, when up on the rooftop, there came a loud clatter!

And suddenly, there was a defeating crash, and Claire darted out of her house in a flash!

On top of her roof, rather, dangle-ing from it were nine pretty reindeer, a sleigh at the summit.

And in this red sleigh, she observed with limp jaws, was the figure of jolly, old, black Santa Claus.

He slid from the roof and he greeted her sweetly (and she nearly fainted, collapsing discreetly).

He helped her stand up and she blinked many times, but the mythical figure assured her in rhymes that he truly was Santa, and that he was black. He wasn't sure why his race earned him such flak,

For after all, Jesus had many skin tones, and how could they tell from his teeth and his bones if he was black or white, and so Santa Claus, too, was whatever you thought of, unless you're a Jew*.

*Not implying there's anything wrong with that, but Santa isn't exactly a Chanukah thing. And yes, I spelled it Chanukah, so sue me.

But Christmas aside, why he really was there was to ask a huge favor from poor, frightened Claire,

As one of his reindeer had sprained his thin hoof when he slipped on a patch of black ice on her roof.

So Claire must replace him, or children all over would not see dear Santa Claus and his deer hover above their dark houses, and none would get toys, and Christmas would suck for the young girls and boys.

And sweet'ning the deal, a promise was made to compensate workforce, Black Santa would trade a wish, any wish, that Claire Dearing could want, and so Claire did ask him, cool and nonchalant if he could restore her original shape, and then her sad dinosaur life, she'd escape.

He promptly agreed, and they both soon were off. They flew over fences, oe'r pigpen and trough.

And when it was over, they settled back down, and Claire turned to Santa, her face in a frown.

"Okay, now you need to give me my one wish.

So here's my desire, this is the main dish:

This magic's for Owen: I'm wishing for him.

My human shape, I want to change on a whim."

Santa, he thought, and he tapped his black shoe.

"Are you doing this for him, or are you doing this for you?"

Claire thought about Owen, and all that he said.

He told her her frill was a lovely, bright red.

He said that he liked her plates and _loved_ her tail.

He said he admired every spike, horn, and scale.

She sat on her rump and she started to cry.

Black Santa, he nodded, and clearly knew why.

"As long as he loves you, I think that you'll find

Your body will take second place to your mind.

So what is your next wish? I'll still give it to you.

And I'll make sure this one is shiny and new, too."

Claire rubbed her green chin, and her tail gave a wag.

Her wish would not fit in Black Santa's red bag.

She batted her eyes and she brought him upstairs.

Dear Owen was sleeping, free of woes or cares.

Claire nipped at his elbow, and Owen, he woke,

And then in a deep voice, Black Santa, he spoke.

"Your wife made a wish and said you'd like to meet me

Because at the age of five, life was no treat, see?

So you needed magic, much more than dear Claire.

And I've done my good deed for Christmas, so there!"

Then Owen looked over the man with some rigor.

. . .

"You, know, I expected him to be much bigger."

And so, bidding Santa a cheerful goodbye,

They watched as his reindeer pranced into the sky.

The next day, Claire's dinosaur heart filled with hope

When she opened her present: a new microscope!

So each of them got what they wanted for Christmas,

And even though Claire's human form she still did miss,

She'd always be happy, despite her bad flops,

Since Owen would love Claire: the beautiful, green Stegoceratops.

***C***

Dearing, the pink-horned hybrid

Was a chubby dinosaur

But if you called her tubby

She would more than likely roar

All of the other hybrids

Ladadadadabadee

Dumbabadumbadumdum

Something something ladadee

. . .

Aw, forget it.

Merry Christmas!


End file.
